Here I lay down this instrument of death, [Ungirds his Sword, and lays it down.
And may it gird some happier soldier's side;
For nothing, it could gain, can countervail
To me, the loss of my Victoria's love.
Your blessing, and farewell! [Kneels.
Ram. Alas! I fear some fatal resolution
Is harboured in your soul: If thus you leave me,
My mind forebodes, we never more shall meet.
Alph. Give not so black an omen to this parting,
For we may meet again, if heaven thinks fit: